John's Hair Issues
by lilyleia78
Summary: Slash. For anatsuno who wanted a fic with John not liking head scritches, Rodney liking them, and sex at the end. The happy little noises Rodney makes as John massages his scalp with slow thoroughness are utterly, intimately familiar.


The first thing John notices as the early morning light washes over him is the feel of strong hands gently smoothing over his back, their roughness skimming past scars old and new on their way to his nape. They pause for awhile at his neck, the touches turning firm, digging into the stiff muscles there, and John groans involuntarily at the sensation. A chuckle pushes warm air past his cheek, and he smiles at the sound, too distracted at first to notice that the hands have moved further up, into his hair. _His hair_. John tries not to protest or react in any way, but it's impossible to hide the sudden tension in his body from Rodney when he's lying on top of the other man.

Rodney's hands stop their broad circles but stay planted in his hair. "What is it?" he asks, pulling back slightly so he that he can see John properly. It's the concern in Rodney's face that does John in; he's spouting his long kept secret before his brain can protest. He vaguely wonders if this is what it's like to be Rodney, the push of words without a filter.

"It's just. I don't like it when people play with my hair," John admits in a rush and tenses further, waiting for Rodney's disappointment or his hurt anger over the triviality of such a thing .

To his surprise, the other man just smirks at him. "You didn't seem to mind last night when I had my hands in your hair and my dick in your…"

"That's different," John interrupts quickly. "It's different when it's sex, when you're controlling things, directing me." And damn it, Air Force Colonel's do not blush when talking about sex. He really wishes his body would get the memo already. Rodney's smirk grows into a full on grin, really not helping the flush spreading down his chest. John gives him his best 'Lt. Colonel' look, but it's a little hard to pull off when you're naked and draped over an equally naked astrophysicist.

Of course, Rodney's become pretty immune to the look even when they're both fully dressed.

John decides that ignoring the situation is the better part of valor. "The point is, I don't really like it. My hair's all sweaty and dirty and you've got you're _hands_ in it. It's not very…sexy." John mumbles that last word; foolishly hoping Rodney will chose not to mock him for it.

"Not sexy?" Rodney's voice is incredulous and way too loud for their proximity. "I'm sorry, have you _seen_ you? You are the very definition of sexy."

John smiles happily at the compliment and presses on open mouthed kiss to Rodney's chest. "You're biased."

Rodney scoffs. "No I'm not." But he immediately backtracks, the scientist in him demanding accuracy. "Well, yes, probably. But it's still true. You, your hair, looks thoroughly wrecked right now. And I…" Rodney pauses and John can see that the other man has developed a pleased blush of his own. "…I did that."

John smiles again and shifts up to straddle Rodney, press a messy kiss to the crooked line of Rodney's strangely shy smile. "Yes, you did. And you can do it again, anytime you want." Rodney surges up to kiss him again, hands drawn magnet-like to the back of his head. John pulls away from the touch. "But really, the hair thing? It just feels…weird."

"Weird? Head scritches are the best!" John's quite proud of himself for letting that one go as Rodney continues on without missing a beat. Head _scritches_, really? "They can make your scalp tingle, make your whole body tingle, or they can be really soothing if you're tense and…"

John tunes Rodney out, letting the words wash over him in familiar wave of white noise, and pondering the passionate nature of Rodney's head-rubbing defense. He was getting unnaturally wound out over something as silly as John not wanting anyone playing with his hair. Four solid minutes on the virtues of head scratches was really impressive even for Rodney. If it was as good as all that you'd think Rodney would want to be on the receiving end of things.

Oh.

"…I mean it's practically its own entity; it looks like it was made to be petted. Of course everyone wants to touch…" Rodney's master thesis on the joys of head scratches is abruptly cut off as John rolls them onto their sides and curls one had around the back of Rodney's neck. "What?" Rodney begins, but the word becomes a surprised sigh as John's hand slips higher, making slow lazy circles in the silky hair slipping through his fingers.

The happy little noises Rodney makes as John massages his scalp with slow thoroughness are utterly, intimately familiar, so John's not surprised to find his dick slowly filling, lifting as it lengthens, eagerly bobbing forward as if seeking Rodney out. John obliges it and scoots forward until his body is flush against the other man. Rodney's still soft, blissfully relaxed from the loving attention to his scalp, but he reaches down with one hand to press John's length against the soft weight of his own dick, and John's never felt anything quite so erotic.

The attention to his cock is slow, almost off hand, but for now it's enough. He rocks gently into the pressure, lazily enjoying the low buzz of pleasure emanating both from his groin and from the tips of the fingers still scritching Rodney's hair. The combination seems to be working for Rodney as well, because John can feel a slow heat growing next to him in Rodney's hand.

His orgasm, when it comes, takes him by surprise. One minute he's riding the perfect wave of warm pleasure, the next it's closing over his head, swallowing him and dragging him into the tide. When he climbs slowly back to the surface, he discovers that his hands have abandoned their petting to clutch desperately at Rodney's broad shoulders. Rodney doesn't seem to mind, smiling with the laconic grace John himself is often accused of, and he rolls John onto his back, a comforting, solid weight settling over him. Rodney rocks into the cradle of his hips once, twice, three times through the sticky slick lubrication of John's own cum and shudders against him as he finds his own release.

Rodney collapses more fully onto him, and John knows that soon the weight will be less comforting, more oppressive, but he's good for now so he hugs Rodney tight with one hand and resumes his scalp scratching with the blunt fingernails of the other.

"See," Rodney sighs against his shoulder, "Head scritching. Best thing ever."

"Yes, Rodney," John agrees solemnly, "I'll never argue with your genius again." And the look of incredulity on Rodney's face is too much; John's laughter fills the space with Rodney's affectionate grumbling joining in soon after.


End file.
